15 Seconds
by Stratusfied247
Summary: Set at Wrestlemania XXI (and written weeks before the show), this is one version of what I would have liked to have happened during the Randy OrtonUndertaker match. One-shot. (StacyRandy)


In fifteen seconds, Randy Orton's life was changed forever. Four seconds for his opponent to get to his feet. Three seconds for him to get a slap to the face so hard that it spun him around. Three seconds to float the RKO. Two seconds to crawl over the prone body. Three seconds for the pinfall. In fifteen seconds, Randy Orton had done the impossible. In fifteen seconds, Randy Orton had broken the record that men much greater and prominent had failed to do. In fifteen seconds, after a match that lasted twenty-seven minutes and thirty seconds, Randy Orton had ruined a legend that no one thought could be ruined.

In fifteen seconds, Randy Orton had broken the Undertaker's winning streak at WrestleMania.

Randy looked down at the Deadman and wondered if he should run or stand there and take in the glory. No doubt, the Undertaker would be pissed off. He remembered watching as he destroyed Maven following a humiliating elimination at the Royal Rumble and thinking that Maven had to have been insane. Didn't he realize who he was screwing? He was stepping right into the path of Death, itself, and the scythe that would take his head was sharp enough to split a hair.

Now, though, Randy understood. It wasn't about the safety factor afterwards. It wasn't about the wrath of the Deadman that one had to face the following weeks. Hell, unless Taker was planning to crossover to Raw, Randy wouldn't even have to see him again after this night until the next dual brand pay-per-view. No, this fight, this battle, this challenge… it was all about making a name. Maven had moved from just a Tough Enough winner to "the man who eliminated the Undertaker." Randy Orton had accomplished a lot in his short career, but tonight, after WrestleMania XXI, he wouldn't be the former Evolution member or the former Intercontinental Champion. He wouldn't even be the former World Heavyweight Champion. He would be "the man who ended the Undertaker's winning streak." He would be the true Legend Killer.

All of the others in his path… he hadn't really destroyed them. He got a pinfall on Ric Flair. He got a pinfall over Mick Foley. He spit in Harley Race's face and, in the privacy of his own quarters, had desecrated the memory of his own father. What had Cowboy Bob Orton really done, anyway? What was he memorable for other than standing beside Mr. Wonderful and fertilizing the egg that had created him? He'd pinned legends, spit on them, defiled their memory, but had he really killed them? They were still around. They were still standing with their heads high.

But Taker… how could he raise his head after this? Triple H hadn't beaten him. Kurt Angle hadn't beaten him. Wrestlers who had suffered their dues, weekend warriors, and men with broken bodies hadn't been able to conquer him at WrestleMania. And now… some kid who thought he was the second coming, a punk kid as he'd called him had defeated him on the grandest stage of them all. How could he ever hold his head high again? It had to be impossible, and that meant that finally, Randy could call himself a true Legend Killer.

Slender arms wrapped around his waist and he looked down into a grinning face. He had been unsure about Stacy Keibler the past few weeks. She seemed to be so distant and disapproving. She didn't want to play, she didn't want to talk… Mostly, she just wanted to be anywhere that Randy was not. She had been on his side since January 24th, and to walk into WrestleMania on April 3rd without her blessing, without even a wish of luck from her… his confidence level had been lessened.

Yet, halfway through the match, it had grown immensely. It had become a matter of proving her and everyone wrong. Randy had been convinced that Stacy didn't side with him because she didn't believe he could do it. She didn't have the faith in him that was necessary. The people in the stands didn't think he could defeat the Phenom. His own father had told him that it was an honorable thing to lose to the Undertaker at WrestleMania. His reply to that?

"Well, you would know a hell of a lot about losing, wouldn't you?"

Randy had wanted to bring Stacy all the way with him. He knew that with the tenacity and fire within them, they could tear a streak through the company until he was once again the World Heavyweight Champion. He also knew a boring relationship when he saw one, and the airs that he had been putting on to make himself seem worthy of Stacy was a boring ass crock of shit. He could tell that, while she played along, while she gave him coy smiles and bats of her eyelashes, she really wanted some excitement. He could give her that rush, that thrill, but she had to be ready for it, and she hadn't been ready for it.

But that night, she was. He hadn't seen her tearing down the ramp. She didn't become visible to him until she slid beneath the ropes and stood steadily in her four inch black heels. She'd thrown so much of her body into the slap that spun the Phenom that her little black skirt swooshed and the drooping neckline of her baby pink blouse swished. She was bold and brash, and now, staring up at him, her eyes were glowing with intensity and excitement.

Undertaker was starting to stir when Randy turned his eyes back onto him. He watched him start to rise slowly and did the only thing that came to mind. He kicked him. If he were going to stand and gloat in the ring, he wanted the Undertaker down for the count. He released Stacy and turned completely to Taker. He kicked him, unaware that Stacy was already sliding from the ring. Taker caught his foot and Randy dropped to the mat. The Deadman stood over him, glaring at him, too stupid to realize that he was supposed to be walking away in shame.

He was coming towards Randy and then… he jerked to a stop. Randy had rolled out of the way when he saw Stacy coming with the chair, but the towering inferno of anger didn't fall to the mat. He turned towards Stacy. The chair fell from her hands as her body went stiff with fear. She started to back up. Randy reached around and grabbed the chair, but he didn't raise up and smash it into Taker's back. He stayed on his knees and brought it up edge-first between his legs. Taker bent forward and Randy spun him around. Another RKO and the Undertaker was back to the mat. He rolled onto his stomach and Randy smashed the chair against his back.

Randy dropped the chair and walked slowly around the prone form, watching with a sinister smirk as the fans booed him. He didn't care. What had any of them done to gain recognition? He had proven himself to be more of a man in fifteen seconds than any of those assholes would do if they lived to be a hundred years old. They could all kiss his ass, and if he weren't so focused on the Undertaker right then, he probably would have told them so.

By the time he made his way to the side where Stacy stood, she had already rolled out of the ring and come back in with a microphone. She held the mic up to Randy and he looked down at her with a smirk. He took the microphone from her and looked down at the Undertaker. "Now, Deadman," he said, "you really are dead." With his arm still around Stacy's waist, he bent down, bringing her with him. "Rest in peace," they said in unison, then Randy added, "you big, son of a bitch."

Randy threw the microphone down and it bounced off of the Undertaker's back before hitting the mat. Randy stood up straight, then looked down at Stacy. He put the crook of his index finger beneath her chin, raising her head to him. He smirked at her, then bent his head. His lips crushed hers. Stacy's arms wrapped tightly around his waist. Randy pulled back and his lips were sticky with pink lip gloss.

Stacy stepped back and rose his hand again. He looked out on the crowd and laughed at their jeers. He was a legitimate Legend Killer, a true destroyer of icons, and he had proven it in fifteen seconds. Hate him or love him… they could no longer deny his greatness.


End file.
